staircase, her own private staircase, of which she was immensely
proud. It was a narrow, winding stair, very steep and crooked,
leading to the ground floor. When Gertrude disappeared down this
gulf with a loud crash, Hildegarde was much alarmed, and flew to
the rescue, followed more leisurely by Bell.

"Are you much hurt, my dear?" cried Hildegarde. "Wait till I come
and pick you up, poor child!"

"Oh no!" replied Gertrude, softly, from the foot of the stairs,
where she lay doubled up against the door. "Thank you, but I never
hurt myself. I hope I haven't hurt the stairs."

Bell came along, laughing. "Dear Dropsy!" she said. "Here, come
up! She really never does hurt herself," she added, in response to
Hildegarde's look of astonishment. "She falls about so much, and
has done so since she was a baby, that she keeps in training, I
suppose, and her joints and bones are all supple and elastic. This
was a good one, though! Sure you are not bruised, little girl?"

Gertrude picked herself up, declining assistance, and maintained
stoutly that she was sound in wind and limb. "If only I did not
break anything," she said, anxiously. "I came a terrible crack
against the panel here, and it seemed as if something gave as I
fell past it."

Bell bent down, in spite of Hildegarde's assurance that everything
was right, and passed her hand along the wall of the staircase.
"There is no crack," she said. "I think it is all right, Toots."
She tapped the panel critically. "The wall is hollow here," she